


Meetings at the Riverbank

by Makkoska



Category: Naruto
Genre: First Time, Founder's area, Happy Ending AU, M/M, Senju Clan - Freeform, Uchiha Clan - Freeform, What-if AU, canon-ish AU, clan wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hashirama, the leader of the Senju clan meets young Uchiha Madara at the riverbank. Against all odds, they become friends and change the fate of their clans. HashiMada, a What-If AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another happy-ending-AU attempt from me – I can’t seem to give up on them. I was fiddling with the possibilities of what if Hashirama was older than Madara. Would he listen to the Senju more when he talked about peace if he didn’t have a real possibility to defeat him straight away? Would Hashirama be able hold onto him if he was already an adult?  
> I wrote this… 9 months ago or so (others give birth to children under this time) and finally got around to post it. Wow. This is six chapters in total and 17,000 + words.
> 
> Warnings: for underage sexual situations. Madara is 14-15 in this story, Hashirama is over 20.
> 
> Special thanks to: Lilly for her interest in my stories. Pikacheeka for her more than useful suggestions where to improve this fic.

 

It wasn’t the first time he saw the boy at the riverbank, but on previous occasions he always hid his presence and went away quietly if he was there as well, even if it meant giving up on his favourite spot, the only place he could use as an escape from the madness of everyday. He wondered if the kid knew the risks he faced. Other Senjus could happen on him, even if they weren't close to their territory, and as his appearance made his lineage quite obvious... It would have been so easy to kill him - just the right jutsu and the world would be free of one Uchiha - but no matter how many years he’d spent in battle already, Hashirama just couldn’t be at peace with killing children. So he even watched after this boy with his unruly, black hair from a safe distance, to make sure no harm would come to him.

 

Probably that’s why he felt that he’d begun to know him after a while. He felt relief when he appeared from time to time, even if it meant staying in the shadows of the trees, as at least he knew he was safe and whole. He seemed to be around fourteen, so well into the age when his clan surely expected him to sacrifice his life on a battlefield if it came to that.

  


He didn’t know what prompted him to talk to the boy this time. Maybe it was how lost he appeared that day, as he stood by the river and tried to skip stones against the surface. They kept sinking after a few jumps, and the pale face became more and more peevish with each unsuccessful try.

 

But maybe it was because just a few hours passed since they buried Itama, who was about the same age as the Uchiha boy currently looking for suitable pebbles on the bank. He wanted to forbid him to fight, but neither his little brother, nor the clan in general agreed on that. He was a shinobi, he’d told him, and the life of shinobi was to fight. Their lives and deaths were to fight... Hashirama hated himself for not having enough strength to put an end to the killings where they massacred adults and children without a second thought.

 

 _We are lucky to have such gentle weather for December,_ Tobirama had told him, though his face was pained, making it obvious that he felt anything but lucky, _we can dig the grave properly, with shovels. Using a jutsu for this reason always seems so profane._ Hashirama just had to escape from the encampment after the burial, and now here he was again, watching this unknown boy at the riverbank.

  
“Aim a bit higher when you throw and you’ll manage to get it to the other side,” he stepped out from between the trees. The young Uchiha spun around at hearing his voice.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Currently we could say I’m your teacher in stone skipping.”  

 

  
“I don’t need your help,” he turned back towards the water, but he was obviously paying attention to every move the man made. Though he was still too careless. A naive kid, who thought no harm could reach him.

 

Hashirama picked up a flat stone and threw it against the river’s surface. He hadn’t practiced this in years, but the pebble popped through the gentle waves in long, graceful arcs.

 

“You see? If you aim higher, you can get it farther.” The boy looked at him with such contempt that he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Still, the Uchiha picked up a stone as well and when he threw it, he was obviously heeding his advice.

  


“I asked who are you? What’s your name?!” he demanded.

 

“Hashirama,” he bowed his head just slightly, watching the sulking face from the corners of his eyes, but the kid didn’t seem to draw the connection between his name and the leader of the Senju clan. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him; when Hashirama had been fourteen, his father hardly shared any intelligence about their enemies with him. Looking back, he saw there was wisdom behind this, that his old man hadn’t done it - as Hashirama had assumed at the time - because he thought so little of his sons that he hadn’t considered sharing information could do them any good. No, actually it was easier to kill someone if you didn’t know their names, had no clue whose sons they were, whether they had kids of their own, someone to wait for them at home. Murdering nameless, sometimes faceless foes evoked fewer nightmares.

 

 

Of course they were both quite far away from home too, and he, just as the young Uchiha, wore simple clothing with no weapons at any visible places. “And who would you be?”

 

“Madara. I won’t tell you my last name.”

 

The man picked up another pebble, biding his time before looking up again, so he could stomach this answer. He’d heard this name before, at increasing frequency nowadays. He was standing next to a young, but already notorious ninja. So probably he wasn’t naive, he was just too full of self-confidence. Who would have thought? He still radiated some childish innocence, no matter how many death he saw and caused.

  
  
“That is a wise thing to do,” he replied at last quietly. He knew what he should do – his duty would dictate to kill the boy right away, before he had the chance to grow into his full potential. This was the best interest of his clan and it was very lucky that they’d never know Hashirama didn’t act on it. “We live dangerous times, it’s better to be cautious.”

 

“You’re a strange guy. Do you come here often to throw stones?”

 

“I like this river. Water has a calming effect on me - it can wash away some of my troubles.”

  


“I thought I’m the only one who knows this place,” Madara muttered under his nose. “You’re a shinobi as well, aren’t you? I only noticed you when you addressed me.”

 

“Then you’d do better to be even more cautious.”

 

“Are you threatening me now?” the dark, expressive eyes narrowed in anger and Hashirama couldn't help but smile. The boy was quite charming like this. How could he take away such a young life in cold blood?

 

“No. I’m not. But I assume you don’t want to get into trouble.”

 

“I can take care of myself!”

 

He just nodded. He wanted to tell him he’d need to learn to be so much more careful, but it was a mistake to talk to him this much as it was. No matter how young and innocent looking he was, they were enemies. It was time for him to go back home before his clan started to miss him.

  


***/*/***

  


Madara carefully pushed the branches of the bush to the side, trying his best not to make a sound. His victim was about ten meters away from him, and by all appearances unaware of his presence. He smiled with satisfaction, edging closer noiselessly. He’d get him now. The man was lying on his back in the grass, watching the clouds rolling by from under half-closed lids, unknowing of his awaiting doom. When he was at last close enough, the Uchiha pulled his legs under himself and sprang up, charging his target at lightning speed. A kunai flashed up in his hand and he swooped down on his target... but the blade sliced through empty air only and sank into the soft ground where the man was just a heartbeat ago.

  


Cursing, he spun around, but it was too late. Hashirama grabbed him with one hand, across his chest - quite humiliatingly seizing him under his armpit as if he was picking up a little kid - and slammed him down on the ground with enough force for all air to leave his lungs.

 

“Not bad,” the long haired man sat down next to him. “I only noticed you in the last moment.”

 

The boy folded his arms in front of his chest and turned his head away. He suspected the other was only trying to comfort him, as he so easily blocked his attack just as he had all those times before. He crawled under the thorny bushes, he got dusty from head to toe and got dozens of bleeding scratches for nothing. Damn him to hell!

 

“Would you like to hear what you’ve done wrong, or would you rather just sulk?”

 

“I didn’t do _anything_ wrong!” he sat up suddenly as he decided to turn to face him after all. “It’s just you! You’re too good!” he shoved the man’s shoulder and he let him. It very much so seemed as if he was trying to hold back his smile and that angered the Uchiha further.

 

Half a year had passed since they’d first talked - how and when it had become their habit to meet regularly here on the riverbank, Madara couldn’t pinpoint. The second time he’d seen Hashirama he was annoyed with him occupying _his_ spot _._ Still he went to talk to him, not even knowing why he did it. He appeared to be a harmless guy enough, borderline simple, but he had some cheerfulness around him which otherwise was very much lacking from Madara’s life. He suspected him to be an unremarkable warrior of some minor clan, who liked to watch the water run by and daydream about how better his life would be if he wasn’t born a shinobi. When the man offered to practice with him, he thought he could amaze him with his abilities. He was used to defeating any adult with ease, and he never thought Hashirama would be an exception, even if they agreed on taijutsu only, in which he was slightly less skilled than in genjutsu and ninjutsu.

  
  
When he’d first lost against him, he thought he just had exceptionally bad luck, but soon enough he had to realize; his first impression was very much false. His strange new friend was anything but an unremarkable ninja. Of course he never asked who he was really. Deep inside he suspected he wouldn’t like the answer at all. And as bluntly honest Hashirama was most of the time, he might have just told him the truth… He wondered sometimes - he was different in build than most of the Uchiha, taller, more bulky but that was true for the majority of the ninja clans Madara was familiar with. His clothing didn’t tell much of his heritage either, just that he was either rather poor or that he didn’t give a thing about what he wore. He was dark haired, and compared to Madara’s people, dark skinned as well, but once again, that was true for most clans the boy knew of.

 

Soon enough he stopped trying to guess where he was from and rather settled for befriending this man who was his senior by almost a decade. Save for his brothers, Madara never felt being close to anyone in his own clan, he couldn’t bond easily, or make friendships. But with this stranger, who didn’t really know who he was, he could be, for once, free. He also found it flattering how he treated him as an equal despite the age difference. If only he wasn’t losing all of their matches...

 

Of course it just made him try harder on every occasion, but no matter how he put all he had into his attacks, his opponent kept up easily with him. As if to rub salt into his wounds, Hashirama always wanted to tell him where he made a mistake, and he just couldn’t stand that. He wasn’t used to anyone doubting his strength. It drove him mad with frustration that he couldn’t best Hashirama.

 

“Well, it’s your choice,” his friend stood up and stretched out lazily. “If you don’t want to learn, you can just end up in the dust again next time as well.”

 

Madara resisted the childish urge to blow him a raspberry. Instead he quickly spun around as he was sitting on the ground, trying to kick Hashirama’s legs out. When he failed to, he chose the easiest if not a very sophisticated method - lunged at him to drag him down to the ground with simply using his weight. Though he knew very well that he only succeeded as Hashirama let himself be “defeated”, it didn’t keep him back from kneeling above him with a triumphant smile while he pinned his shoulders down.

 

“You’ve lost, old man!” he cried, gloating. Even if it wasn’t a real victory, it felt nice to play it.

 

“That hurts,” though he put a hand above his heart in a dramatic gesture, Hashirama’s eyes were glinting with repressed laughter and this time Madara couldn’t help but grin as well.

  


“Next time, I’m going to defeat you _for real.”_

 

“I’ve heard that already. It’s time you heeded my advices, so you can stand a chance.”

 

They were actually always useful. Madara already had a vast amount of battle experience, but it couldn’t rival Hashirama’s. But it wasn’t only that - he had a might that the Uchiha never came across before. If they were the same age, would he have more chance, he wondered. It wasn’t the issue that the other was a grown-up - Madara had no problem defeating an average shinobi of any age since he turned ten. It wasn’t simply his [physique](http://hu.bab.la/sz%C3%B3t%C3%A1r/angol-magyar/physique) \- yes, he was tall and wide shouldered, and when they struggled like they had just now, Madara could feel his hard muscles under his loose clothes, but an Uchiha didn’t need brawn to beat someone. It was just simply Hashirama being, without any acceptable explanation, better than him.  
  


They continued the taijutsu practice for a long time that day. When they finally finished Madara was flushed and breathing just a bit hard. They never tried any other techniques - it would have been too much of a clue about which clan he was from and probably it was the same for his friend as well.

 

“I did better today,” he stated with self-confidence. It annoyed him that Hashirama didn’t praise him for it.

 

“You did,” came the agreement and that instantly cheered up his mood. They sat down, close to the river and he leaned against the man’s side. “You improved a lot again,” Hashirama ruffled his hair - something Madara wouldn’t have let anyone else to do, but now he was just grinning at it. When he was with Hashirama, everything seemed so easy - he didn’t have to think about wars, to worry about Izuna, to fight adult’s battles and make serious decisions. He felt he could be really be himself only when he was with his friend.

 

“Hashirama?”  


“Hmm?”

 

“Nothing,” he wanted to ask him why he kept coming here to spend time with him, but in the end he decided against it. Probably he just didn’t have anything better to do than trying to teach him stuff. He didn’t want to hear if he didn’t mean anything important for the other.

 

“What’s the matter now?” Madara turned away angrily when the man leaned in to look into his face. It was annoying how he never did what he expected him to do. “Spill it out, if you started it.”

 

When he didn’t get a reply, he wrestled Madara down to the ground and started to tickle him. The boy wasn’t prepared for such a sneak attack. He tried to escape but he couldn’t keep back his laughter no matter how he tried. He wanted to put on a haughty face, to make it obvious he was deeply affronted in his dignity, but it didn’t work out much as Hashirama held him down securely and somehow managed to find his most ticklish points, between his ribs, at the underside of his arms...

  
  
He couldn’t disguise his disappointment when the other suddenly pulled away, crouching back on his heels. Madara sat up and tried to arrange his ruffled hair and wrinkled clothing. When he glanced up, Hashirama was watching him, but not with a smile this time, but with some strange, unfathomable expression he couldn’t place. His first thought was that he did something to bring forth this change, but that of course was ridiculous.

  


‘What’s wrong?” his voice was annoyingly insecure. He grimaced, angry at himself and at the man as well.

  


“Nothing. I’m sorry. I just got a bit warm,” Hashirama stood up and walked down to the river.

  


Madara looked after his broad back with conflicting emotions as he crouched down next to the water to wash his face. Something happened but he didn’t understand what, and that vexed him. After a while he got up as well and went after the other. He wouldn’t leave it like that.

 

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**/*/*/*/**

 

 

 

Hashirama stared grimly at his own reflection and wished the gentle waves of the river would reach out to swallow him. The redness from his face and neck refused to disappear, but what was worse, he was still hard as rock. He felt repulsed by his body’s reactions, especially as it wasn’t the first time it happened.

  


What the hell was wrong with him? It wasn’t as if he made a habit of lusting after young boys. He thought he put this whole thing behind him when he’d been Madara’s age. He found it shameful enough even when he was an adolescent, getting a hard-on if he recalled one of his friends’ naked body he glimpsed in the onsen, or if it happened to him during practice or playful wrestling. He thought he was over it... at least if he looked at or fantasized about someone nowadays who he shouldn’t, it was about men, not... children.

  


And Madara was that, or at the very best, stuck somewhere between childhood charm and the gracefulness that would surely be typical of him when he grew up. A teen, without any idea who he was befriending... and the least of that was his origin. Wasn’t Hashirama a monster for this, for waving all kinds of dirty fantasies about his friend’s young, lithe body, his black, beautiful eyes, his lips that appeared so temptingly soft...And if he was doing it only when lying alone at nights! But no, he did it at times like these as well, when they were together, when supposedly he was training with the boy for his own safety, for him to become stronger and to be able to defend himself. He thought he was a better man than this, but his body’s reactions told otherwise.

  


A soft splash behind his back signalled that Madara stepped into the river as well. Hashirama washed his face one more time before straightening up, thankful for the loose trousers he was wearing as it hid what needed to be hidden. He turned back and unconsciously smiled at the disdainful face the boy made - the Uchiha loved to hide his feelings behind such a mask, unknowing that Hashirama found it charming. By now he knew him enough to know when he was feeling insecure, no matter what false expression he wore. He was an exceptionally powerful shinobi despite his tender age, but in many aspects his young friend was vulnerable. Quite probably he hurt his feelings as he didn’t know what to make of Hashirama leaving him like that suddenly.

  


“You don’t mind if we finish for today, do you? I’m worn out.”

  


Madara just shrugged his shoulders moodily, prodding the pebbles of the riverbed with his naked toes. The warm July sun, the taxing practice and the previous flounce made him sweaty as well, tempting Hashirama to suggest him to take off his shirt and wash himself down. But he already knew the boy to be rather shy, not to mention that would be just a bit too much strain on his willpower as well. So, though he wouldn’t have minded cooling off his own body either, he rather just turned up the legs of his trousers, sat down on the bank to dangle his feet into the water. After some hesitation Madara did the same.

  


It was so pleasant spending time like this - shamefully much more pleasant than dealing with all the issues of his clan, leading the battles or healing the injured ones. Just one more reason to feel twinges of conscience... he would need to put an end to these meetings, nothing good could come out of them...But he knew he’d be too weak to do so. When he was with Madara he felt he entered another, carefree life.

  


“Hashirama?”

  


“Yes?”

  


“Then see you next time here, right?” the boy obviously aimed to sound uncaring, but failed at it. The Senju couldn’t help but smile.

  


“Of course. But I expect you to defeat me then.”

  


“I will!”

  
  


***/*/***

  
  


Madara swore quietly as he dragged off his soggy pants he wore for sleeping. Not _this_ again...of course it happened from time to time, but to wake for this _every_ night... Now he had to wash his trousers again in secret as he would have died of shame if his mother found it like this.

  


He didn’t use to remember _those_ dreams, only some vague, pleasant feeling remained in him after waking. But tonight was the fourth in a row when he dreamt about Hashirama and woke to find a tell-tale spot on his pants above his groin, or, and this was in many aspects even worse, that he was on the brink of orgasm and he just couldn’t hold it back…

  


He wished if one of his older brothers were still alive, so he could ask for some advice. Of course it was selfish to wish it for such reason, but he desperately wanted someone to reassure him that these were just dreams, they didn’t mean anything really and that he wasn’t some freak for having them. He couldn’t talk about this with his parents and Izuna was too young and wouldn’t understand.

  


But even if he had someone to talk to, he couldn’t tell _who_ he was dreaming about. A stranger, someone whose last name he didn’t know, an adult _over twenty,_ when he’d only turn fifteen this winter and to make it even worse, a man. Why it had to be him of all people, why it had to happen to him? When he heard older boys gossiping, it was always about breasts and thighs of girls they whispered about. No mentions were made of battle-toned, hard muscles, strong hands or wide shoulders – the things he fantasised about even awake.

  


He kept thinking about it, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. His father scolded him when he made mistakes during practice – something he _never_ did – and that of course made him feel even more miserable. This couldn’t go on like this, he decided. He didn’t know what Hashirama had done to him, but it was obviously his fault. When they met next time, he’d make him pay for it. He’d deserve it, it was due time for revenge, for the way he just refused to be defeated and for invading his most private thoughts. Until then it was the best if he excluded him from his mind.

 

Despite his decision, most nights he continued to have the dreams.

 

He arrived in very low spirits to their next meeting. Hashirama wasn’t there yet as usual, no, Madara actually had to wait so much that he thought he wouldn’t come at all. This was the worst, not knowing what could have happened to him. Was he injured in a fight or did he die in one? Maybe he simply got bored of Madara… Maybe it had something to do with his dreams?  It was ridiculous to think that of course, it wasn’t as if he was such a waste of shinobi that he couldn’t conceal his thoughts and emotions, but he had too much time while waiting for him, and his worries and doubts kept gnawing him.

  


When he sensed his presence he felt relieved for the barest of moment, before his anger bubbled to the surface. He picked up a sharp little stone and threw it straight at the man’s temple when he got close enough, though of course Hashirama easily caught it.

  
“Is this your new tactic for defeating me?”

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Madara snarled, feeling so furious that he could hardly resist drawing his blades and attack the man. “I won’t wait for you next time, I have better things to do!”

 

Hashirama stepped close to him and the boy felt his questioning eyes boring into him. He set his chin up and looked defiantly back up him, making sure his face didn’t betray him. He was aware of the slightest of flush on his cheeks, but that was just his anger’s doing, nothing else, nothing else at all. What was he thinking, he fumed. What a stupid thing, to be worried about him. Probably it would have been better if he didn’t come at all, at least Madara could be rid of these disgusting dreams and disturbing desires…

  
Still, when the man put his hand on his shoulder he couldn’t bring himself to shake it off.

 

“I’m sorry. Something happened, at home, with my clan, that’s why I couldn’t come sooner.”

  
“I don’t care,” he felt it was a childish response, but what else could he say? He should not care where he was after all. They never talked about their clans, he’d no idea what Hashirama’s role there was. Maybe he was with his family – after all he _was_ old enough to have a wife and maybe kids of his own, wasn’t he? Madara grimaced at the thought and he asked his question way more demanding than he intended. “Do you have somebody?!”

  


“What do you mean?” the tall shinobi pulled his hand back with a confused expression.

  
“A wife. Girlfriend…” _children, anyone who’s more important than me._ That last part of course he didn’t say out loud.

 

“I don’t!” he grinned as if the Uchiha asked something funny and Madara’s hand twitched with the urge to slap him. How dare he laugh at him? “I really have plenty of time yet to…”

  


“You’re twenty-three, aren’t you?” he spat. “My father had two sons already at your age.”

  
“Now I feel like some old man,” Hashirama seemed uncomfortable as he looked sideways and scratched his nape. This time Madara resisted rubbing in that he _was_. Suddenly he didn’t feel like pressing this topic any further.

  


“I don’t feel like practicing today,” he quickly changed the subject instead. “And we wouldn’t really have the time anyway, you were so late.” He sat down with his back against a tree trunk in the cool shadows of the canopy and the man followed him. He didn’t want to question him or take revenge on him any longer. Though his fury was blazing minutes ago, the calmness that always took over him here at the riverbank was now smoothing out his jumbled emotions. It was the magic of this place, the little island of peace in the ocean of war and chaos that always appeared when he was with Hashirama. He was relieved that his friend did come to meet him after all. He just realized how tense he’d been, afraid that he wouldn’t, for whatever reason. He yawned a jaw-cracking yawn and tried, without much success to find a more comfortable position. The summer heat made him so sleepy. As he fidgeted, he started to lean against Hashirama more and more, but there wasn’t anything wrong in that, after all. He’d touched him plenty of times before, during their trainings or for no reason at all… He smiled and burrowed even closer, already half asleep. He could afford half an hour rest, really. He’d been very tense these past few days, but Hashirama made him relax, the gods knew how he did it. It was comforting to have him by his side. He smelt nice, like a forest at summer...

 

He woke to Hashirama calling his name softly. As he opened his eyes he noticed the sun was already setting, it was due time to head home. He stretched out lazily, realizing only afterwards that he was lying with his head resting in his friend’s lap. He squinted up at him before quickly turning his glance away. How humiliating. He wanted to sit up quickly, but Hashirama’s hand on his hair stopped him, as he run it through his always tangled locks. That made Madara relax instantly – his touch felt so nice, the way he caressed gently not just his hair, but his face and temple as well. Sleepy as he still was, it took a good minute to sink in what an improper position he was in. He opened his eyes again – Hashirama was looking at him with some strange, unfathomable expression that made the teen feel hot from his head to toes. He flushed red in embarrassment, though he didn’t even understand why.

 

“I think…” he had to clear his suddenly dry throat so he could continue, “I think I have to go home now.” He sat up quickly and turned around, to say his goodbyes and dash off before he did something idiotic. His breath caught as Hashirama leaned in very close. He was still looking at him with that intense gaze that all but hypnotized the teen… Their foreheads almost touched, he could see from so close up how the dark brown irises of the man were marked by lighter spots… Hashirama raised one of his warm palms and pressed it to Madara’s face, caressing his jawline with his thumb… then their lips brushed. Unconsciously, the boy opened his mouth to gasp in air and the other took advantage of it and kissed him – really kissed him, not just pressed mouth against mouth in a childish gesture as the Uchiha saw others of his age do, but pushed his tongue deep into his mouth, making him so embarrassed that he just couldn’t decide what to do. He wanted to shove him away, but all he managed was a weak moan. His prick stiffened so quickly, it was downright painful how hard it got, rubbing against the inside of his pants in a most uncomfortable way. He felt so ashamed about it, he wished the earth would open up and swallow him. He should have protested, what protested, he should have cut Hashirama’s throat for doing _this._ But he only felt deep disappointment when the kiss ended.

  


His friend pulled back and he just gawked at him, at loss for words. He just didn’t know what to do, he was not prepared for such a thing happening. In the end he decided if the man tried to kiss him again, he wouldn’t let himself – if only he would try again finally and not just stare at him…

  


“Forgive me,” Hashirama said at long last. “I shouldn’t have done this. I didn’t want to…”

  


Madara felt as if a bucket of cold water was tipped on his head supplely. _He didn’t want to…_

  


“If you didn’t want to, WHY DID YOU DO IT?” quiet as the beginning of the sentence was, the last few words he shouted angrily. He jumped up to run away, as he felt he just couldn’t stay with him a moment longer. But he didn’t get too far before strong arms caught him from behind and he was pulled flush against Hashirama’s muscled chest. He kicked his shin for good measure as hard as he could, but the other must have noticed he wasn’t really struggling to get free.

  


Hashirama held him tight and he leaned back against him after a while. His face must have been red as the setting sun from the shame and excitement he felt. They stood like this for a while, before the man planted a kiss on the top of his head and turned him to face him. When Madara tried to hide his face behind his hair, he gently took hold of his chin and raised it, until he had no choice but to look at him.

  


“I phrased that wrong. It _is_ something I want – but I shouldn’t have done it.”

  


He smoothed out a lock that fallen before Madara’s eyes, and he just couldn’t resist rubbing his cheek against his hand. After a moment of obvious hesitation, Hashirama pulled him close again and that felt so good. What was happening to him? Why was he letting it happen? No matter that he knew how _wrong_ it was, he downright melted when he felt those lips he loved to see smile at him press against his face, his neck. He clamped his mouth shut on a whimper that wanted to escape as the man’s palm caressed a path down his spine to grasp his buttocks just a bit roughly. Madara raised his arm to embrace his neck, though he had to stand on his tiptoes to be able to do that, so their bodies pressed together even closer. He looked into the eyes of his friend and his breath caught at all those emotions that swirled in them. He couldn’t quite place them, they scared him, but pleased him at the same time. His own, contradictory feelings paralyzed him. His hard-on woke up again, or maybe it never went away at all, and it was now pressing against Hashirama’s thigh, and he surely noticed it… He hid his red face in the crook of the other’s neck just for a second, then chided himself for showing weakness, so raised it again, narrowing his eyes in the best show of anger he could manage.

  
“Madara…” Hashirama’s voice was hoarse and he was just as flushed as the boy was, compensating the Uchiha somewhat for the nervous embarrassment he felt. “You have to go home now, before… before it’s too late. So they won’t worry for you. We’ll talk about this next time, alright?” Before Madara could have become affronted at being sent away so, he dipped his head down and kissed him, deeply enough to make the boy dizzy.

  


He walked home with mind over-swarming with thoughts. He just had no clue what he should do now.

 

 

**TBC…**

 

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra warning: if you’re offended by underage sexual activities, it’s really the time to stop reading now

***/*/***

 

 

“We can’t let it continue like this! Those Uchiha dogs have to pay for what they’ve done!”

 

Hashirama had to repress a sigh when his men glanced at him, expecting his final say in the matter. He was successful in avoiding conflicts with the other clan for a while, but unfortunately their eternal enemies hadn’t done him the same favour. The war was about to break out again, and he wasn’t sure if he’d the power to prevent it. He could drag it out the best, this fragile period he couldn’t honestly call peace, to delay the killings for a bit longer, but… blood must be paid with blood, both clans fully believed, keeping up this endless circle of animosity. 

 

He could feel Tobirama’s glance burning his nape as he sat behind him. _You can’t afford to show weakness,_ he’d say after this meeting. _You’re their leader – our leader – you have to prove you’re the strongest._

 

Still, he played for more time, sending out spies to gather more information, a proof that the death of the group of Senjus a couple of days ago was the Uchiha’s doing, as if they did anything to conceal that fact.

 

He didn’t want this, didn’t want this at all. For years now he was trying to come up with a solution, _any_ solution how could he make the clans come to peace with each other, and since he got to know Madara, he did all he could to stop his people to get into a fight with the Uchihas. Still, he had nightmares about the boy getting some grave injury in a fight, or a downright mortal one, and if he had to fear he’d suffer it from a hand of a Senju…

 

After all, his name was mentioned all the time, his own clan obviously sending him into battle with increasing frequency as he got stronger and he was becoming quite notorious among the Senjus. And now, as the Uchihas murdered a handful of their people, revenge seemed unavoidable. Hashirama couldn’t stand the thought. He had to find a way to warn Madara, to protect him… how could he bear if harm came upon him?

 

But what could he do? After what he did last time, chances were good that the boy wouldn’t come to meet him at the riverbank again. He wasn’t so young that he wouldn’t understand what Hashirama’s embrace and kiss meant. If he had any sense, he’d keep away from him, even if he didn’t suspect how close the Senju had been to do so much more, even if he didn’t know what effort it took not to overcome him, to undress and lay him down to the grass, to caress, kiss and make love to him… to a child, who wasn’t even fifteen yet.

 

Though he didn’t really expect Madara to turn up, he went to their next meeting, with the firm resolve he’d never again let his desires take over. He didn’t have to wait long to sense his friend’s presence. He felt relief – realizing just now how tense he’d been, thinking he might not see him again.

 

The boy made him wait, before at long last he walked down to the riverbank as well. He sat down at arm length from him, propping his sharp chin up on his knees. He was so young, despite his already bloody past he appeared so innocent. Hashirama wanted to give him a future where his path wasn’t marked with the corpses of his enemies, something any child would deserve. But there was more to it of course, he couldn’t lie to himself. Hashirama wanted him like he did nobody ever before. Not only his body, though he lusted after him undeniably. Maybe it would have been simpler if it was just the urge of the flesh. But nothing was simple in his connection with the Uchiha boy - he loved him, he wanted to be with him, to make him happy and to be reassured he was safe. Pity, that he well knew – the best he could do for him was to keep away. He was afraid that he wasn’t a good enough man to do that.

 

“About what happened last time. About what I have done…” he started. Madara turned his face away slightly, so his hair mostly hid his expression. “I’m so sorry about it. I had no right to touch you like that. I lost my head, but it won’t happen again.”

 

The object of his sinful desires didn’t answer, but from his tense pose it was obvious he was fuming with anger. Hashirama would have loved to look into his eyes, but he couldn’t like this. He didn’t even know any longer what to say, when all he wanted to do was to embrace him tightly and promise him anything, just to see him smile. Even if that was the last thing he should do.

 

“It was my fault only… it was me who shouldn’t have…”

 

“I don’t care. Shut up,” Madara muttered under his nose. Hashirama stood up to sit right next to him – just to be able to make him understand better what he was saying, he reasoned with himself, but it still pleased him when the boy didn’t pull away.

 

“Listen… I want you to forget it ever happened. I want to talk to you about…”

 

“Why the _fuck_ have you done it, if you now say this?!” the Uchiha interrupted him. Hashirama wanted to smooth out that unruly fringe that always fell before his eyes, but he shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled, “I’m fed up with you!”

 

When the Senju pulled back at that, he jumped to his feet angrily and attacked. Hashirama automatically caught his leg as he tried to kick him in the face. The adolescent cursed and fought but very soon he ended up on his back on the ground. He managed to hit Hashirama one last time, almost knocking out his left eye, before he could hold him down. He looked up at him with fury and with badly hidden grudge. Hashirama could hardly resist pulling him close to comfort him. But instead he did all he could to make a strict face.

 

“Don’t act like this.”

 

“Don’t treat me like I’m a kid!”

 

“Why shouldn’t I, when you are one?”

 

“That didn’t keep you back from pushing your tongue into my mouth, did it?” Madara blushed a charming shade of pink as he spit that.

 

As Hashirama involuntarily recoiled at the justified blame, he attacked again. The next instant it turned into some bizarre wrestling, where he tried to keep the boy as far away from himself as possible, while Madara hit, kicked, clawed and bit where he reached him. It was by no means a serious fight, Hashirama suspected the teen was only trying to get rid of his frustration this way. His own resolve was getting shakier with each fast heartbeat, as the closeness of the other started to have an undeniable effect on him. When he managed to hold his arms down again, he couldn’t resist embracing him tightly while Madara was panting angrily into his ear.

 

“I hate you…”

 

“I’m so sorry…” he didn’t even know what he was saying that for. Was he sorry for hurting his feelings or for not being able to keep his desires in check? He kissed his forehead and inhaled his scent. It was happening again, he just couldn’t resist. They were closely entwined in this mock embrace, with Hashirama using his height and bulk to keep the boy on the ground, creating the false image that he was covering him protectively. He was torn between what he believed was the right thing to do – to keep away from the boy, before he tainted him with his own sinful cravings -  and what he _wanted_ to do _–_ that is, to never let him go. He longed to see the boy happy and his own yearnings were making him mad. Madara murmured something sulkily, but he wasn’t trying to hit him anymore - in a minute or two he actually wedged closer to him. One of Hashirama’s hands, as if it lived its own life, started to caress the boy, first only his hair and temples, then it slid to his neck, then even lower, under his shirt to caress his sides.  Madara pressed his forehead against his shoulder to hide his flushed face and his nails dig into the his neck with so much pressure it was a wonder they didn’t draw blood. When Hashirama wanted to rise up to his elbows, he wove his legs around his hips, clinging to him to hold him back.

 

As Hashirama was still battling himself, trying to decide what to do, or failing that, to at least find a more conformable position, his thigh pressed against the boy’s groin – even through layers of clothes he could feel his obvious erection. That broke the remaining of his resolve – which hadn’t been as firm as he wanted it to be to begin with, obviously. He ran his palm down the teen’s back to grab his butt, and pulled him even closer, almost completely lifting him off the ground, while he tried to balance their weight on one elbow.

 

Madara made quiet whimpers, still hiding his face in the crook of Hashirama’s neck while, maybe unconsciously, thrust his hips up against him again and again. The Senju kissed him where he could, pulled up his long shirt to caress his bare back and waist, enjoying the silky skin and lithe muscles under his fingertips. His own cock was also hard, throbbing painfully, but he tried his best to ignore it, though every time it rubbed against Madara’s taut stomach or slender hips it was becoming tougher.

 

He wanted to undress him, to see him, to kiss every part of his body, to make him feel good, to love him fully, deeply. Thanks the gods that he remained sober enough to know; they were in the open, at the riverbank – it was just not the right place for it, he couldn’t endanger the Uchiha so. But he couldn’t let him go either. He bit into his neck gently, and when that made Madara moan with obvious pleasure and press his hips against his thighs firmly, he did it again, a bit harder this time, licking, sucking on the sensitive, velvety skin.

 

His palm that had been caressing the waist of the teen so far now slid lower, under the brim of his trousers to stroke the tempting arch of his backside. A shiver run through Madara’s whole body and he groaned. A moment later Hashirama felt the proof of his pleasure, a wet spot of his semen spreading at the front of his pants where it pressed against him.

 

They didn’t move for a long minute, the panting of the boy the only sound breaking the silence of nature around them. He started to caress his messy head again, nowhere more inappropriate, although what happened aroused him more than anything else in his life before.

 

“I… I didn’t want to…” Madara whispered.

 

“If you didn’t want to, why did you do it?” his voice was hoarse with his desire, but the weak joke did its effect - Madara glared at him with obvious annoyance, before his shame or confusion took over again and glanced sideways.

 

“It’s alright. Everything’s alright,” he soothed. When the boy shook his head, Hashirama cupped his face between his palms and forced him to look into his eyes. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You’re wonderful.”

 

“Why do you say something like that?” with his lips bitten to the point where they were red as cherries, with his flushed cheeks, his dark, large eyes, he was irresistible. Hashirama kissed him and pulled back only when he felt the tension leave his muscles. He desperately wished for the circumstances to be different, so he could pick him up and carry him somewhere he’d be safe for ever, far away from the fights, clans, this mad world that forced a precious creature like Madara to become a murderer… If there wouldn’t be Senjus and Uchihas, if only Hashirama wasn’t who he was… But thinking like that got him nowhere and was meaningless - after all if they weren’t who they were, probably they would have never met.

 

“Because you _are_ wonderful,” he smoothed out that stubborn lock from before his eyes and took a deep breath. “Now listen to me. Your clan killed seven of the Senjus recently and they are now planning revenge. The fights will break out again, it’s now unavoidable. You have to take care of yourself. Talk to your father, the leaders to…”

 

“What are you talking about?” Madara gasped, muscles tensing instantly, as he gripped Hashirama’s shirt. “How do you know…? Why do you assume…?”

 

“I know, and that has to be enough. Times will become dangerous again. I just can’t bear the thought of any harm coming to you.”

 

“I’m strong!”

 

“Yes. Yes, you are, but sometimes being strong is not enough. Promise me that you’ll be very careful and that you’ll take care of yourself. Promise me!” he raised his voice a bit and shook him gently by his shoulders. He was using his commander-in-battle tone, something Madara had never heard from him before, and the surprise of it apparently worked.

 

“Alright… I promise…” the boy answered, staring at him with eyes opened wide. Hashirama kissed him again - so Madara wouldn’t have too much time to think about what he’d said, he reasoned with himself - before standing and pulling the other up as well. His own cock was still hard, but he had the strength to ignore it now. For a moment Madara’s mask, that he was so expert at keeping in place even so young, slipped, he seemed lost and confused as he stood there before him. He could understand that, what happened was obviously too much for him. He hugged him, caressed his hair, and the Uchiha leaned against him after a bit of a hesitation. He froze when he felt Hashirama’s erection against his stomach, so he kissed him again.

 

“I don’t get it,” he muttered and the Senju didn’t ask what he meant, his touches, what happened, what _didn’t_ happen or the things he said about the fights. Probably all of them. They stood like that for long before he could let him go, making him promise again that he’d be careful.

 

He waited until the unruly, black head disappeared between the trees then went to look for a more secure spot, where he could free his long neglected hard-on at last. It took but a few quick, rough caresses and he was spilling his semen against his own hand, all the while imagining Madara’s springy body, soft kisses and soulful eyes.

 

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

***/*/***

 

The way home was more than mortifying. As if having messy, sticky pants and itchy skin underneath wasn’t enough, his thoughts kept returning to what had happened, awakening a different emotion in him every minute. He felt disgust, at himself and at Hashirama, then he felt embarrassment for letting the man touch him _like that_ and by his own reactions to it. But the worst by far was how he got excited again just by recalling the other’s weight on top of him, the way he held him close so strongly and protectively, his caresses, his kisses. That he wanted Madara as well, as his hard-on had been so obvious… He wished it had lasted longer, if he had more self-restrain and hadn’t come into his trousers like a stupid kid… Maybe Hashirama would have treated him differently than… He was now sorry for not looking at him throughout the act and not reciprocating his touches. But he’d been so embarrassed – no wonder Hashirama thought him nothing but a child and sent him away when he was still erect.

 

How would it feel like, to touch him _there?_ Would he want Madara to touch him at all? It was impossible to tell through their clothes, but surely it’d be bigger than his, as his friend was older, tall and muscled. Would it be anything like his own, would he enjoy if Madara wrapped his fingers around it like he did for himself…?

 

“Damn you, just go away!” he muttered to his once again hard dick. How could he slip home unobtrusively and change clothes like this without anyone noticing?

 

Luck was on his side in the end, and he could sneak into his room without meeting anyone. He couldn’t resist finding a quick release, thinking he might try to touch Hashirama like this next time and not lasting long at all.

 

He recalled only afterwards what Hashirama had said. How could he know what clan Madara was from and what the Senjus were planning? Maybe they were in war with them as well and spied out this information? That was something he could imagine, so he happily played with the thought of asking the origin of his friend finally next time they’d meet. It would be only fair, he knew Madara to be an Uchiha after all. If they had mutual enemies, maybe they could meet officially? After all, his name was already mentioned as the next leader of the clan and for a while he was sure his friend had to have some important role as well. He had that innocent aura around him, but that was false, his battle-toned muscles and lightning quick reflexes told clearly of it. Madara didn’t understand how he could miss at the beginning the strength the man had, maybe it was his calmness and cheerfulness that masked it.

 

They held a counsel in two days’ time and Madara was thinking hard how to breach the subject. He obviously couldn’t tell how he got his information. They had only let him attend one meeting so far, and he kept quiet on that, well aware that it was quite an accomplishment that they let him join despite his age.

 

When Hashirama was mentioned – by his own father – he couldn’t place it, he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be surprising, the way he kept thinking about him…

 

“Looks like the Senjus woke up at last, we’d better be careful. I don’t know what Hashirama is playing at; avoiding all fights for so long, but I suspect a trap…”

 

Madara’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. This _had to be_ some bizarre coincidence, he thought desperately, but he already knew it wasn’t. He felt as if someone knocked all air out of his lungs suddenly. Of course he heard the name of the leader of the Senju before… but only in passing, and he never really paid any attention to it. Usually it was just “the Senju” or “that Senju” and that was it. He didn’t need names for his enemies, he didn’t have to know more than how to kill them. So he just never drew a connection between _that Senju_ and his friend. He was different, above the constant wars, murders, revenges… at least up till now he’d managed to deceive himself so.

 

“What kind of a man is he - Senju Hashirama?” his voice was quiet and calm, not telling of the whirlpool of emotions inside him. “So I’ll recognise him if I meet him in a fight…” he had to make sure, maybe it would turn out they were talking about a different man after all.

 

“Don’t try to take him alone, son,” his father warned him. “You’re not yet prepared for that. That damned Senju is too strong for you, but I’m sure you’ll catch up with him soon enough and then you can revenge your brothers’ deaths…”

 

“He… he killed them?”

 

“Whether it was him or one of his men, it doesn’t matter. His death would be the greatest strike for the Senjus. If it wasn’t for him, we could defeat them for good at last.”

 

“How does he look like? How will I recognise him?”

 

“Oh you will, no one else uses wood techniques... Do you remember his father, Butsuma, he died some five years ago. Hashirama is somewhat like him, tall, with broad shoulders, long hair… eh, you’ll know who he is.”

 

Yes, Madara already knew who he was. He couldn’t sleep that night, he just lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling. For over half a year he was meeting with the worst enemy of his kind. He’d been practicing taijutsu, talked with, and laughed together with _that man_. He let him kiss him and do more… He couldn’t comprehend what drove Hashirama to do it. He’d known who Madara was, maybe knew it all along and he could have killed him any time. What was he planning, what did he try to achieve?

 

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like part of some evil plan. Why else would he spend all that time with him? Those trainings had to be just as much a lie as the affectionate touches and kisses. Maybe he wanted to turn Madara against his clan or pry information out of him. He felt bitter disappointment and murderous fury at the thought. How could he be so naive, how could he let himself be fooled so? But the cursed Senju would pay… He’d regret everything he did, right before Madara cut his throat from ear to ear.

 

Usually he could hardly wait for their next meeting, but this time it arrived too fast. Hashirama was waiting for him, sitting on the bank, dangling his feet into the cool water to ward off the late-summer heat. By all appearances, he looked unguarded, just as he’d always been. Madara wanted to rush up to him to be embraced and kissed, to be reassured this whole mess was just a misunderstanding. But just as much he wanted to take revenge on him for tricking him so. He made sure the kunai hidden in his sleeves could be drawn easily. He’d do it, he must do it, the man being who he was had to be a reason enough.

 

He walked closer silently, though he didn’t make a real effort to conceal his presence, as he knew it would be in vain. It didn’t matter – he’d have the chance to get close. He sat down, if not right next to the man, but close enough. Hashirama tipped his head to the side and smiled at him, but he couldn’t force himself to return the gesture.

 

“You are very serious today. What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing. I…” although he planned out what he’d say, that he thought about what happened and he wanted more, and when the Senju lowered his defences, he’d strike him dead, he couldn’t find the words. When Hashirama wanted to smooth out the fringe shadowing his eyes he involuntarily ducked his head.

 

“Do you want me to leave?”

 

“Don’t! I’m not…” ignoring his traitorous heart that jumped up to his throat, he quickly kneeled and crawled closer to the other and put his hands on his shoulders. It was so ridiculous to feel like this, he killed countless men before, and this wasn’t any different, just creating the ideal conditions before the strike. Still he was so nervous, he felt like crying.

 

Hashirama let him lean in and press his lips against his. This time he didn’t pull him close, didn’t take control and it was so much more embarrassing like this. Still, when he returned the kiss, pushing his tongue into Madara’s mouth, the boy’s body reacted to it. His hand wandered onto the Senju’s neck, than below, to his nape, enjoying the play of muscles under his palm. The touch of his hair was nice, silky, tidy, not so unmanageable as Madara’s. He twined it around his fingers and carefully pulled it to the side, so the artery running in his neck made a clear target. Oh-so-slowly he slid the kunai into his other hand, though his lids closed just for a heartbeat when the Senju started to kiss and bite the apparently sensitive skin under his chin. He slowly let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding and strengthening his resolve, brought the dagger down.

 

Whether he hesitated for a heartbeat or if Hashirama’s reflexes were too good, it was impossible to tell afterwards. In the very last moment the man shoved his hand away, so the tip of the blade only drew a long but not deep wound on his neck. In an instant Madara was on his feet and tried to kick Hashirama in the face. He should have poisoned that dagger, why the hell didn’t he think about that? His Sharingan came to life, with more ease than ever before, so he could at least follow his opponent movements.

 

But in hand to hand combats he could never match the other’s skills, and even with his bloodline ability, he couldn’t equal him – at least now, knowing who his opponent was, he no longer had to feel shame about it… After his unsuccessful attack he jumped back, forming the hand signs rapidly for fire release. The flames erupted all over the man, making him think he got him this time – but when the smoke disappeared he saw the fire was stopped by some kind of a massive wooden wall, that got black with soot, but otherwise remained unharmed. Cursing, he tried to charge on his target again, but springy branches burst forth from the ground, twining around his wrists, his chest, up to his neck and down to his ankles, effectively immobilizing him completely and dragging him down to the ground. He flexed his muscles, trying to break free, but he other’s technique seemed unbreakable by simple physical force and he couldn’t form any handsignes like this. He blinked and let his Sharingan disappear. He wouldn’t be able to make a use of it like this.

 

He glared up angrily at Hashirama who stepped next to him. Yes, he could see the leader of their arch enemies in him now. He wasn’t smiling at all, he looked grave but determined. Determined to finish him, Madara assumed as he looked into his dark eyes. He couldn’t recognise his friend in that gaze at all as he looked back at him unflinching and emotionless. All it would take is the Moukton is too tighten around his throat and his windpipe broke. It was pressing against his Adam’s apple just hard enough that he could draw in air, but still feel the threat of that.

  


Now that it came to it, Madara found that he wasn’t afraid to die. He just hated that he was so easily defeated. His parents and his brother didn’t even know where he was – would the Senju take his corpse to somewhere they could easily find it so they would, at least, be sure of his fate? Should he ask? Poor Izuna, he’d leave him alone, when he vowed to protect him. He hated himself for failing his brother so.

 

“Madara…” Hashirama crouched down next to him, wiping the blood off from his neck where the teen managed to cut him, with his sleeve. “If I let you go, will you attack me again?”

 

“Just get over with it,” the Uchiha snarled, “Didn’t you have your fun already?! Just kill me!”

 

“I’ve no intention to kill you.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you won’t use me! I’ll kill you if you don’t kill me!” He wanted to strangle him with his bare hands when the Senju’s lips pulled into a tired smile. How dare he?! If only he could move…

 

“Listen to me. If I wanted to kill you, or harm you in any way, I could have done it at any time.”

 

“So why haven’t you?! You’ve known all along who I am, haven’t you?”

 

“I knew. But I’m no murder of children…”

 

“I’m not a child!” he shouted. “I’m _Uchiha_ Madara, I’m just as much of a shinobi as you are! No, I’m better, you Senju scum! Why did you befriend me, why have you trained with me, _why…”_ he halted his words, not really wanting to say what had happened recently between them. Maybe that was the bastard’s intention all along…? “You’re a disgusting, filthy old man!” he tried to free himself with renewed vehemence, though all he achieved was bruising his wrists. “How _dare you_ touch me, when you’re responsible for my brothers’ death? You and your whole clan! You should be wiped from existence, you’ve no right living, no right deceiving me, or wanting to use me...” his storming emotions where constricting his throat, and his eyes were blurry by his own helplessness and fury. He shook his head to clear his vision and now tears were running down his cheeks in large, warm, humiliating drops. Then Hashirama was right there, in front of him, cupping his face in his strong palms, searching his glance with his own serious one, and despite his will, the teen found his touch calming. He seemed troubled and hurt too, and in many ways it was worse than the calm and solemn murderer he was minutes ago. It was more difficult to hate him like this.

 

“It would have been better if I told you, rather than letting you figure it out, but that can’t be helped now. Yes, I knew all along who you are, _Uchiha_ Madara. I don’t know why I talked to you that first day, it just seemed right. Then I trained with you as I wanted you to become stronger so you can protect yourself. You’re important to me – as inappropriate as I know it to be… I’ve begun to love you,” he was smiling again, sadly, guiltily, all the while caressing the face, the jawline of the boy with his thumb.

 

“You’re lying,” Madara muttered, casting his eyes away. “You’re lying as you lied all along.”

 

Hashirama sighed and sat back on his heels. A moment later the vines holding Madara down drew back and disappeared into the ground. Uncomprehending what was happening, he sat up and rubbed his bruised wrists, but he didn’t try to attack just yet. He had to wait for the right moment, he knew well. He wouldn’t forgive the man for tricking him so. If he managed to kill him that would mean a victory over the Senjus and end to the fights…

 

“I’ll send a ceasefire offer to the leader of your clan. Maybe it’s not too late yet to prevent our people to start to kill each other again…”

 

“What?” Madara gasped, forgetting his anger for a moment. “And will your men agree to this?”

 

“In the end, it’s me who’s making the decision,” this time the boy involuntarily returned his smile before remembering who he was talking to. He must not trust a Senju, that was something everyone told him since he could understand words.

 

“Why would you want a ceasefire? The Senjus were always our enemies; it’s something that will never change!”

 

“But it _can_ change!” the man sat down next to him again. He started to talk, enthusiastic, open and friendly as if nothing changed between them. It was hard to see a foe in him, so Madara reminded himself that he couldn’t allow falling for his act again. “There’s no sense in the continuous fights, all that deaths on both sides. When things degraded to the point where we’re expecting children to become murderers, I don’t know. My youngest brothers… One of them was eight, the other thirteen when they were killed…” he fell silent for a moment, the pain evident on his face. Madara never thought about it before that many of their enemies must have died just as young in the fights as his own brothers had been and despite his will he felt a pang of sadness. “I want this to never happen again. I wanted it even before getting to know you, but… but I want it even more now. I just can’t stand the thought, I have to do everything to protect you.”

 

“I don’t need your protection!” Madara protested, though he felt just a bit flattered by it.

 

“You probably don’t,” Hashirama smiled at him. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to.”

 

“Hmm,” the teen lied back in the grass, realizing a second too late how relaxed he became again in the other’s presence. That he believed him. “I don’t think my clan will agree to it. Maybe when I’ll be their leader…” he didn’t finish the sentence, as he didn’t know what to say. Would he make peace with the Senju then? He never entertained the thought before. He always considered it his obligation to take revenge for the fallen ones, to maintain the never-ending war. Why was he suddenly finding amity so alluring? Hashirama started to talk again on a quiet voice, about an old dream of his, a shinobi village, where even the now hostile clans could live in peace together, where so young children as his and Madara’s brothers would not be sent into mortal combats. It was an impossible dream, but the Senju sounded honest and Madara let himself be caught up in the idea. If there was a way to make that come true… Could it be, could peace exist? Did Hashirama really believe in it, should he trust him? It was against everything he was ever taught.

 

Later, the man leaned above him and kissed him. Madara returned it, and he didn’t think for a moment that he should attack him again. He could hardly repress his disappointment when his friend pulled away without trying to do more and only offered his hand to pull him up from the ground. He was lulled into dreaming and parting would mean facing reality - where Hashirama was a Senju who he failed to kill, where their people kept butchering each other from ancient times, where they were expected to battle each other.

 

“I have to go back now,” Hashirama said apologetically. Was he troubled by not murdering Madara as well, the boy wondered. “Now that the fights are breaking out again, I can’t be away much. Take care of yourself… And if you have any say in the matter when I send that ceasefire offer…”

 

“So you are serious about that?”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

He tightened his hold on Madara’s fingers before turning on his heels to disappear between the trees. The Uchiha looked after him for a long while, mind dizzy with all that happened, but his heart a thousand times lighter than it was upon arriving to their meeting spot.

 

**TBC…**

  


 


	5. Chapter 5

***/*/***

  
  


Hashirama stared grimly at the dead body lying at his feet as he straightened up, tearing his blade out from his heart. Rain was pouring down on him in heavy curtain and the strong wind kept splattering his face with the cold drops. The storm fitted his mood just well – as miserable as he felt, getting wet to his bones while waddling through mud and blood on the battlefield didn’t make a difference.

 

In the end he failed miserably - he couldn’t prevent the war to break out again. There weren’t many supporters of peace in his own clan, though he managed to force his will on them somehow. It was the Uchiha who refused any negotiation. No answer was forthcoming from them till two days ago on the pact he’d offered them – when they sent the emissary back – or more exactly, his severed head.

 

So they were here again, slaughtering each other on the pretext of two Daimyos’ conflict, whereas their true reason was simply revenge, worthless as it was. And he was here again as well, muddy up to his knees and bloody up to his elbows, as he could do nothing to keep his men and the Uchihas back from slaughtering each other. What else remained now that his initiative ended so shamefully abrupt than to try to protect his own and gain victory as soon as possible?

 

Still, the massacre didn’t want to end. It was due to the storm probably, as one could hardly see what was right under his own nose, or maybe everyone but him was full of bloodlust now that they could fight with their nemesis again. Time never flew in a battle like it did at peace, the minutes seeming like hours, the hours like weeks, until Hashirama felt that he was fighting for an eternity, that nothing else ever existed than warding off blows and spilling the blood of those who were fools enough to come against him.

 

Then what he’d been afraid all along happened. Through the thick curtain of rain he suddenly glimpsed Madara, fighting with four Senjus. Three men already lay dead at his feet, but it was obvious from his movements that the boy was getting tired out. Without a second thought Hashirama dashed towards them, forming the hand-seal of Snake while running. Never before did the flowering trees grown so fast to start to spread their narcotic scent, strong enough so not even the pouring rain could dampen it.

 

By the time he reached the spot, his own men were lying on the ground unconscious. Madara was struggling against the technique still, kneeling in the muck. He stood up shakily when he glanced him. Hashirama easily avoided the fireball sent in his way. He had to twist the boy’s arms back when he tried to sink a kunai into his heart. So close up he could see how he was full of bruises and probably more serious injuries as well – obviously this hadn’t been his first fight today. His eyes were red with the Sharingan and impossible to read anything else than killing instinct in them. Despite his battle-worn state and his young age, he resisted the sedative effect of the pollen, having greater willpower than grown up men. Hashirama had no idea what he’d do now, all he was sure that he couldn’t let any further harm came to his friend.

 

“Let me go, what are you doing?!” Madara protested dazedly, trying to escape his hold. “My brother, what have you done to Izuna?”

 

The Senju’s glance jumped to the boy, not older than ten, lying on the ground. He felt his throat constricting – the dark shirt wasn’t plastered to the small body only by mud and water, but obviously by blood as well. How many children had to die before this madness finally came to an end?

 

He let Madara go to crouch down next to his brother, risking a stab in the back. But the teen seemed too much under the influence of the poison of the trees to do anything more. He was relieved to feel the pulse of the little Uchiha, but his wound needed immediate attention. They were at the middle of a battle, and despite his youth the kid was his enemy, but… he wouldn’t leave him like this even if he’d no connection to him. He was reminded too much how his own brothers died for that.

 

“Let’s go a little bit farther,” he told Madara quietly, lifting the younger boy up.

 

“Let him go!” he demanded instantly.

 

“I’ll help. Come.”

 

When it became obvious he was too dazed to follow Hashirama, he shifted the light burden to one of his arms to pick up, without further ado, Madara under the other as if he was just a sack, and sprinted away.

 

At safe distance he put the two Uchiha down on the soggy ground and released his technique so his men could regain consciousness. Then he raised massive wooden walls in the form of half a sphere, with only a few riffs for air and light to come through around themselves, so they were protected from both rain and the eyes outside. He carefully opened the shirt of the injured boy and wiped off the blood and dirt as much as he could with his sleeve. The wound was grave, quite probably mortal, if it didn’t receive instant tending. He concentrated his healing chakra into his palms and started to work on the deep slash. Madara sat down next to him on the ground and just watched him quietly for a long time. Only when the colour started to return to the complexion of his brother and the cut closed up did he speak.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

“Because I don’t want to be responsible for the death of any more children, not even by doing nothing to prevent it. And for those you care for – I want that even less.”

 

“So he’ll heal?”

 

“Yes. He needs to rest a couple of days and he’ll be good as new.”

 

Madara pulled up and embraced his knees, hiding his face behind them, but his shaking shoulders still told he was crying.

 

“Let me take a look at you too,” Hashirama told him gently. “You have quite a few wounds that would better be healed soon.” When the Uchiha just shook his head, he caressed his soaked, unruly hair. In the end the teen raised his tear-streaked, dirty face and the Senju could start to work. He sat down behind him to pull him close until his back pressed against his chest and his wet locks tickled his neck and chin. The boy soon relaxed in his embrace as the warmth of the healing technique worked his body, but neither the time nor place was suitable for Hashirama to let down his guard as well. He worked fast but thoroughly, erasing the worst of the cuts and bruises without leaving any mark of them. When he finished, Madara turned to his side to press his face into the crook of his neck, and he allowed himself a minute of luxury to pull him close. Afterwards he stood, helping the teen up as well.

 

“Can you carry your brother out the battlefield to somewhere he’d be safe?”

 

“Yes… thank you.”

 

He leaned down and kissed him. He was reluctant to leave them alone, but he had to trust Madara’s abilities. His own bloody duties were awaiting him.

 

“Take care, don’t you let anyone harm you.”

 

***/*/***

_Senju Hashirama,_

_You saved my son’s life and I have to thank you for that. My other son, Madara told me what happened, and though I can’t comprehend the reason for your deed, I’m willing to assume you were led by goodwill. The Uchiha clan is now ready to negotiate about the possibilities of armistice. Give us the time and place you prefer. A small, five-men delegation should participate from both sides._

_Uchiha Tajima_

 

Madara wanted to pick up and run away with the letter that took his father so painfully long to write when he just kept staring at it after the last stroke of brush, afraid he’d change his mind and tear it to pieces. It took him more than a week to convince first his old man, than everyone who had a say in the matter that it was really the Senju leader who healed Izuna’s mortal wound and that they should take the since repeated ceasefire offer into consideration. The adults were still suspecting a trap, though of course it was understandable.

 

They didn’t know Hashirama, hadn’t seen him when he saved his brother’s life and –thanks the gods- weren’t there when he hugged and kissed Madara, who now believed with his whole heart the man wanted peace.

 

So for the first time in his life he tried to influence the decisions of his clan, he reasoned and argued until they agreed to at least listen to what the head of Senju had to say. He even managed to convince them that he had a rightful place in the delegation. When his father told him this and praised him, saying that apparently he’d be a suitable leader not only because of his power but for his cleverness as well, he didn’t know if he should be proud or should he be guilt-ridden for not telling him so many things.

 

“Why can’t I go?” Izuna demanded the night before they left. “Talk to dad to take me with you too!”

 

The older boy was so nervous that he answered with more irritation that he would have done otherwise.

 

“Of course you can’t come! You’re too young – the adults go to negotiate!”

 

“But you’re not an adult either!”

 

“I’m much more so than you!”

 

Izuna stuck out his tongue at him, but a few minutes later he tried again, with a different approach.

 

“Why do we need to make peace with the Senju anyway? Have you forgotten that they killed…”

 

“I haven’t. But that man, Hashirama – he saved your life. He really wants the fights to end. Wouldn’t it be good if…?”

 

“Why don’t I remember it?” Izuna sighed. He asked that a lot of times since he regained consciousness – he didn’t like being left unaware of things, and Madara suspected he didn’t really believe he would have died if he hadn’t been saved by _a Senju._ But at least thinking about this made Izuna forget he was angry with his brother. “Tell me again what it was like.”

 

Madara smiled. It was a tale he didn’t mind telling again, leaving out certain details of course. So he described once more how the chakra pooled visibly, radiating with warm green light under the palm of the Senju, how the deep gash on Izuna’s chest healed, leaving only a faint, pink scar behind. He added how the man, supposedly their mortal enemy, didn’t want to kill children, how he talked about peace and looked so sincere about it…

 

“Take me with you!” his brother pleaded again. “I want to meet him too!”

 

“Not this time. But if we make peace, you can see him then.”

 

He couldn’t sleep that night. He was torn by unceasing doubts. What if the Senjus planned a trap? Hashirama wouldn’t, but if they did it behind his back… What if his own did the same just left him out? Would peace be really possible and if yes, could he meet with his friend regularly? Wouldn’t his father start to suspect the truth? Would saving Izuna’s life be enough for him to try to trust Hashirama?

 

His fears didn’t diminish, rather just grew stronger when they reached the meeting-point. The delegation of the other clan was waiting for them. His secret friend was different than he ever saw him at their spot near the river, not cheerful and easy-going, but serious and solemn. He wasn’t anything like he had been on the battlefield either, grave is his blood-spattered armour. He didn’t bat an eye when he greeted them, keeping his glance all along on the clan’s leader and on Madara’s father who was his main counsellor.

 

The negotiation itself was rather boring with all the haggling about the smallest of details, bringing up all those old grievances, demanding retrieval, with the mistrust and accusations neither party really made an effort to disguise… The only one keeping his calm was Hashirama. He seemed fully determined to convince everyone of his right, take what it takes. Slowly his aura started to have an effect on everyone and they calmed down as well.

 

“Let’s continue this tomorrow,” suggested Tobirama, his friend’s brother. “It’s getting late, we can make a more thought over decision after we’ve rested.” In the other clan, he was openly the most sceptical about peace. From the very first minute Madara found him terribly antipathetic. He didn’t understand how could this cold, distrustful man, just a few years his senior, be the brother of Hashirama. Still, the proposal was agreed by everyone and the two delegations went to set a camp in safe distance from the other.

 

The teen didn’t sleep much on that night either. As soon as dawn broke, he gave up trying. Silently he sneaked farther so he wouldn’t wake the others and went for a walk into the forest. He soon entered a small clearing and wasn’t even surprised to find Hashirama there as if they pre-agreed on it. The man was sitting on a raised root, with his back against the trunk as if the tree grew the way it did just for his comfort. Knowing his abilities, it wasn’t impossible. He had his eyes closed, face turned towards the patch of rising sun that shined though the canopy, but he smiled, so Madara knew his arrival was noticed. When he stepped up to him, both the trunk and root lengthened, forming a kind of a bench, so he could sit down comfortably as well.

 

“Is your brother all right?” Hashirama asked, glancing at him from under half-lowered lashes.

 

“Better than ever. He kept pestering me to bring him here as well, so he could meet you.”

 

“That’s nice.”

 

“Who said it was to thank you?” Knowing Izuna he might have just wanted to attack the man. He appeared innocent, but in truth he was very combative, especially if he went against Senjus.

 

They just sat there for a while quietly. Madara wanted his friend to embrace and kiss him, but of course with the others so close, it couldn’t be done. If they were caught, that would be the end to the negotiations. He glanced sideways and was both embarrassed and pleased by the way Hashirama was looking at him. Now that he knew who the man was, this whole thing between them got a different light to it. It was flattering that the leader of the Senju, a man dreaded by Uchihas, the god of shinobi as they called him, liked to be with him…wanted him. On the other hand, it pissed him off, how he appeared just too sure of himself, as if it was given that Madara would be willing to do anything he wanted… He had to get stronger, the teen decided, to equal to him. Maybe at this point he was the weaker, but on one, not that far away day he’d surpass Hashirama. Of course, for that it’d be good to learn from the best teacher…

 

“When we made peace, I want you to continue practice with me,” he wanted to sound it like a question, but it came out more like an order. Hashirama just grinned.

 

“Not a bad idea. You have to learn a lot still.

 

“A year and I’ll be better than you!” Madara snapped, affronted.

 

“We will see that,” he stood up and held out his hand. The boy let himself be pulled up. For a minute they stood really close and the way the taller shinobi looked at him made Madara’s face flush red. “Come,” Hashirama suddenly stepped away. “It’s time we create a new era, but for that we have to put an end to this futile war.”

**TBC in last chaper.**

 


	6. Chapter 6

***/*/***

  


The riverbank was different in late October that it had been at summer. The sunshine still gave warmth, but cold winds were blowing as well, carrying fallen leaves with them. Meeting with Madara was also different, now that so many things changed. Hashirama was happy to note that they improved mostly for the better.

 

“Attack already,” he told the boy. “Do you think you can become strong enough to defeat me if you’re just lying on the ground?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, but he was getting up, and patting the dust off from his backside. He didn’t become more respectful, not even a bit, now that he knew Hashirama’s identity, but the Senju didn’t mind. He attacked again, and it was more difficult to fend off his blows this time. Of course the teen still ended up on his back. He tried to kick the man off him when he held down his arms above his head, but without much success.

 

“You are not motivated enough,” Hashirama shook his head, ignoring that as always, the closeness of the slender, springy body immediately started to have an effect on his. “Maybe we should make a bet.”

 

“A bet?” Madara asked, intrigued enough to forget about his struggle.

 

“Hmm-hmm. Let’s say… if you don’t manage to get me on the ground today you’ll get to prepare and serve Tobirama his tea.”

 

“What?!” Madara gasped, horrified.

 

“That would give you a reason to double your efforts, wouldn’t it? Now what would you like if you can best me? Maybe…”

 

“You could…kiss me.” He flushed a deep shade of red, making the Senju suspect he had more in mind than just a kiss.

 

“I might do that otherwise as well,” he said gently, raising his hand to caress his friend’s smooth cheeks. “Is that what you really want?”

 

“No, I…” he took a deep breath, before setting up his chin. “Well yes, but… do it properly.”

 

“Properly, huh?” he couldn’t help but grin at that. He wondered what was going on in the teen’s mind – his own certainly came up with a lot of interesting possibilities. But he made a promise to himself; even if he found the Uchiha so irresistible, he wouldn’t do anything he didn’t ask for. He couldn’t allow his own desires to ruin such a precious, young life. “It’s a deal,” he said simply, when Madara nodded. The next moment the little fiend was on him like a whirlwind, more than determined to best him this time.

 

It was getting harder to resist his longings with each passing day. Madara, as boys of his age were bound to, grew very quickly, getting taller, more mature with every week. His voice rarely cracked any longer, taking on a deep, smooth tone that he’d have as an adult and he didn’t look much like a child any longer. Hashirama was feeling less guilty about wanting him so much, though he was undeniably still very young. So maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to take this thing that was between them to the next level… Now that Madara was with him more it wouldn’t be that difficult.

 

The boy had been serious about wanting to learn from him -he had even managed to convince his father that it would be a great first step to build the trust between their clans, if he’d become Hashirama’s apprentice. Many of the Senju thought that he was with him as a hostage and was surprised when he turned out to be free to come and go and with the amount of time Hashirama spent with him.

 

There was hardly any day when Tobirama didn’t pull him aside to try to convince him not to do that. “You can’t trust them,” he would say, “I know you saved that snooty kid, but they won’t stay grateful for long. I don’t give them much time and they will come against us, again.” Add to the mix how Madara always made a point to be rude and hostile to him… and the situation became more than volatile.

 

Good thing that otherwise the two clans fared with peace rather well. Of course it was a slow thing, building trust and learning to trust the others, but…

 

In the last moment Hashirama managed to turn his face, so Madara’s fist, that would have surely broken his nose, only connected with his cheek. The force of the blow still sent him staggering back. He hastily took a defensive pose – apparently he’d been fighting on autopilot as his thoughts carried him away and his opponent didn’t fail to take advantage of his inattention. He was getting stronger and faster with each day, making it quite a challenge to keep up with him. Hashirama could have defeated him still, even if not with such ease as he did just half a year ago… but he wasn’t that keen to win this particular match. But of course he’d given him a hard time, so when Madara finally pushed him to his back and kneeled astride his chest, he could grin with real satisfaction.

 

“Hah! Got you this time, old man!”

 

“So you did,” he watched with fascination as the teen bit his lower lip, trying to decide if he should ask what obviously was on his mind. But he wasn’t one to back down from challenges after all.

 

“So… about my reward…”

 

“I didn’t forget about it,” Hashirama smiled. He pulled the boy down and pressed his lips against his softly.

 

“That wasn’t proper at all,” Madara muttered and he laughed.

 

“Not here,” he caressed his cheek. “I promise to kiss you properly at home.”

 

“Don’t try to wriggle out of it!”

 

“Why would I?” he grinned. “But now I want to show you something, come.”

 

Madara muttered something under his nose, but followed Hashirama up to the hilltop. The valley, as always, was beautiful with the forest below and the river crossing it. It never failed to fill Hashirama with peace, but now that he had such plans with it, he found it even more breath-taking.

 

“I think this would be a great place for the village.”

 

“Village?”

 

“Where our clans could settle down together. A place for everyone to join if they agree with our principals.”

 

“So you were serious about that?”

 

“I tend to be serious about things I want. About people I love.”

 

Madara glanced at him from the corner of his eye and a small, pleased smile curved his lips. The Senju put his arm over his shoulder and he leaned into the embrace. They stood like that for a long time. Hashirama felt at peace more than he ever did in his life before.

 

***/*/***

  


Tired with the taxing training of that day, but elated over his victory, Madara couldn’t wait to be back at the Senju settlement to clean himself and to see Hashirama keep his promise about proper kissing. He wished he’d been more courageous and asked for something more. His mind happily wandered to possibilities they could do, things that he was now certain he liked, and things that seemed a bit vague and maybe even scary, but still desirable. If they’d really build a village, where the clans lived together they could spend even more time with just the two of them. That was quite a plan.

  


The more Madara was in his presence, the more he could believe in this peace Hashirama so liked to talk about. Madara used to think that a true leader had to be just as smart as strong and just as cruel with his enemies as caring about his own kin. His view was changing slowly - Hashirama wasn’t particularly smart or cruel by any measure, but still seemed a suitable head of his clan. He even managed to get the Uchihas to accept him.

  


As if his charm was irresistible, from being the arch enemy of their kind he quickly became the role figure of peace. Men liked him and women… well. Madara preferred if he didn’t visit the Uchihas’ encampment too often.

 

“He’s a surprise, isn’t he?” he overheard their mom talking to their father once.

 

“I guess so. Not as Butsuma had been. It’s rare for a man with such power wanting to make peace instead of conquers.”

 

“And he’s rather handsome too. What do you think; shouldn’t the clans strengthen their bond through marriage as well? I’m sure we wouldn’t lack candidates…”

 

So altogether he was the happiest if he could spend time with Hashirama away from the predatory eyes of females of the marriageable age, even if it meant time away from his family. He did miss his brother, and Izuna always tried to make him stay...

 

“Why do you have to go the Senjus again?” he’d asked Madara every time he was about to leave, unperturbed that the answer was pretty similar in every case.

 

“It’s not that I _have to_ , Izuna. I _want to_. You know I’m learning from him.”

 

“But what can he teach you that father can’t?”

 

“A lot,” and not just taijutsu or ninjutsu, but obviously he wouldn’t tell that to his little brother. Not that Hashirama was doing much – honestly, he was doing annoyingly little. That was at first reassuring – he’d been a bit afraid that the man might try to take advantage of the new situation. But by now he just wished that he’d finally _take advantage_ – caresses and kisses were the most inappropriate things he’d done. Maybe he found Madara too immature, too much of a child… or maybe he was just a damn tease, trying to drive him mad.

  
“You shouldn’t trust him. He’s a Senju after all,” was another thing Izuna always pointed out to him.

  


“Funny for you to say that, with how awed you were with him and all,” he told him once and smirked when his brother flushed. It was understandable of course – Hashirama did save his life after all. When he visited, right after the pact for peace was signed, their whole clan had been very suspicions of him. But he won them, just as he won their father. Just as he’d won Madara. Izuna, with all of his eleven years’ determination to hate the man no matter what, didn’t last long against his friend’s charisma either. He just had a certain way with words that made people trust him, or maybe it was how he managed to appear calm and cheerful all the time. It didn’t take a day, and Izuna was asking him to take him as his apprentice as well. He gently refused – which pleased Madara a lot, something he felt guilty about later – and since then his little brother settled for being jealous for the time he spent away with him.

 

That didn’t keep him back from asking Hashirama every time they met to teach him stuff.

  
Though Madara never minded sharing anything with Izuna, it was pleasing that Hashirama was only his - his mentor, his friend. His lover, if he could use the word for the kisses and caresses they shared. But maybe that was about to change. If needed, Madara was willing to take the initiative, he was getting frustrated enough for it. So maybe today… Hashirama did promise him a proper kissing after all. It could easily lead to more...

 

But once back at the encampment, Hashirama got caught up in all the nuisances of leading a clan – seemed as if the Senjus couldn’t exist without his constant guidance for a day– something that made Madara wonder if they were simply dim or if it was the same with his own clan. He didn’t wait for him, rather went ahead to have his light dinner alone once Tobirama showed up. He had his own room, for the first time in his life, not shared with any of his brothers, right in Hashirama’s house. It was an unexpected safe haven, perfect for times like this, when he didn’t want his good mood ruined by listening to the white haired bastard scolding his friend for spending too much time with him, for neglecting his _other, more important duties_ just to train him. Though Hashirama reassured him that he wasn’t duty at all, the boy never could get that out of his mind.

 

He was obviously more tired than he realized as he woke to Hashirama touching his face softly. It was already dark, he could make out only his silhouette, but he wouldn’t have mistaken his presence even if he’d gone blind. Madara sat up, mind foggy with his disappearing dream. That warm palm on his cheek was so comforting, he felt like slumping against the man’s chest and slipping back to sleep. Funny, how his fingers weren’t calloused at all, probably thanks to his healing abilities… he yawned and snuggled close. His friend chuckled and caressed his hair.

 

“Sorry, it took longer than I expected. I’ll just let you sleep.”

 

“Can you stay?” Madara mumbled.

 

“Do you want me to?”

 

“Hmm-hmm,” he nodded, pressing his face into the crook of Hashirama’s neck. He smelled nice, like those ancient trees next to the river at summer. He nuzzled the soft skin, his lips touching it in an almost-kiss. The Senju pulled him even closer, so he did it again, this time licking it with the tip of his tongue.

 

Hashirama shifted and he hang onto him, ending up in his lap somehow, with his legs astride of those narrow hips, half kneeling on the bed, half sitting on the man’s thighs. He wasn’t that sleepy anymore, as his body started to respond to the warm power radiating from his friend and to his light but still arousing touches, but he pretended, hiding his face, arms entwined loosely around the other’s neck. It was easier this way, he didn’t feel embarrassed as he was just letting things happen.

 

The Senju stroked the line of his jaw then cupped his face gently, raising it until Madara looked him in the eye. His expression must have given him away, as Hashirama smiled mischievously before he dipped his head to kiss him, properly just as he promised. Madara gasped into his mouth as his lips moved over his, rocking his hardening prick against his hips unconsciously and Hashirama cradled him to his chest, one hand in his hair, the other running small circles on his back. When he tried to pull back the teen clung to him.

 

“No, don’t…” he muttered, “we can do…more?” It came out somewhere between a question and a go-ahead, a plea and an order. He frowned to himself, remembering he wanted to be more firm in this matter so his friend wouldn’t think him a child. Hashirama didn’t seem to mind his tone though. He pulled Madara close again, moving his own hips just slightly as if he couldn’t help himself. He was hard as well, it was pressing against the back of the boy’s thigh, intimidating but arousing.

 

“You sure of this?” he whispered into his ear and Madara nodded. Wasn’t that obvious? For being the strongest shinobi alive, the man could be really dense at times. Well, dad always said that Senjus were more muscle than brains…

 

All thoughts of his father and old prejudices were pushed out of his mind instantly when strong, clever fingers started to untie his shirt, caressing his naked skin underneath. Hashirama wanted to lay him back, but Madara shook his head – he was more comfortable like this - held close, feeling protected. Lying there while his friend undressed him – that would make him too open and vulnerable. Awkward and helpless, like a kid. The other understood him without words and didn’t force it. The Uchiha kissed his neck again, grinding against him, burying his fingers into his silky locks and pulling on them probably too hard when that palm slid down to the front of his pants, cupping his dick through the rough material.

 

Hashirama’s movements were slow, as if wanting to give him time to protest when he unlaced his trousers and reached inside, but stopping him was the last thing on the teen’s mind. He was too busy trying not to come straight away being touched there finally. The Senju started to stroke him leisurely and he couldn’t keep back soft gasps and moans as his face flushed red from excitement and embarrassment. It was such a simple thing really, not that different to when he was doing it to himself, no reason to feel shy about it. But of course, it wasn’t the same at all, not really, not the hurried strokes when he was just getting rid of it, but obviously intended to cause him pleasure.

 

He realized suddenly what he was doing, hanging onto Hashirama’s neck and humping his grip. It shouldn’t be like this - he must reciprocate instead of just letting it happen, if he wanted to be equal to the man.  He took a deep breath, making himself to unlock his arms and slide his hands under the hem of Hashirama’s shirt. He stopped caressing Madara to let him map his body. He wore loose, comfortable clothing all the time, successfully hiding his battle-honed, hard muscles. They felt surprisingly good under his first tentative touch. He grew bolder, fingers sliding down the taut stomach low enough to graze dark, curly pubic hair. His friend gasped and that sound pleased the teen to no end.

 

“Can I…” he started, but realized it was stupid to ask permission in such situation. Hashirama nodded anyway, so he loosened the lacing of his pants, trying not to stop to think as he wrapped his fingers around his erection and drew it out. He was… indeed bigger there, just as he suspected, and it was red and hard and intimidating, making Madara realize he was really doing it, holding a man’s stiffened penis in his grip.

 

He glanced up tentatively to Hashirama’s face, having half a mind to tell him it was a mistake after all, but he found him with his eyes closed and biting his lower lip. He was obviously holding back, and suddenly Madara saw the situation in a different light – he did this to him, made this man, the leader of Senju, the object of desire for women, the strongest shinobi he’d ever know, want him. He had power over him now. It wasn’t one sided at all, not just some childish fantasy – he wasn’t alone in this.

 

He moved his hand experimentally and the other thrust his hips up to meet it. Strangely it was almost as satisfying when it was done to him, the feel of silky, damp skin not that alien as he first thought it to be. Hashirama pulled him close until their foreheads touched.

 

“I want you so much,” he muttered, sending a thrill down the teen’s spine. He kissed him deeply, tongue pushing against Madara’s, his hand – the one that wasn’t busy with stroking him again – cradling the back of his head. It was funny that it was just… jerking off the other, really, still the Uchiha felt more excited than ever before in his life.

 

Hashirama’s hand slid down his back to cup his arse, fingers digging in just a bit too roughly.

 

“Do you… do you want to fuck me?” Madara heard his own voice whispering, he didn’t even know where the words were coming from. Even in the dark of the room he saw the Senju’s eyes were opened wide and looking at him with unmistakable lust. He was scared he’d say yes, but he didn’t know if he could bear hearing him answer no – his doubts paralyzed him once more.

 

“Yes,” Hashirama said on a throaty voice. “I very much want to. But not today. I’d rather just take things slow, we have plenty of time. I don’t want this to be rushed. I want to make love to you properly”

 

The tension left the teen’s muscles. That seemed just like a perfect answer. This time he let Hashirama lay him back, he didn’t find him intimidating as he rolled on top of him, keeping his weight on one of his forearm. The older man took both of their cocks into his hand, rubbing them together, thrusting against him and that was good, better than good. Soon enough Madara was shoving his own hips up, moving together. His orgasm was sudden, pleasure twisting in the pit of his stomach so harshly that it was painful as he came, holding onto Hashirama’s neck as if his life depended on it.

 

The Senju kissed him deeply once more, his hand flying on his own cock now, and Madara wasn’t even embarrassed to raise his head to watch and only just a bit when he reached out to touch it again. It was wet with Madara’s semen, and though usually the Uchiha instantly cleaned it up after reaching his peak when he pleasured himself, now he didn’t mind the stickiness. He wrapped his fingers around the hard member, and Hashirama covered his hand with is, helping him move it the way he wanted it. When the teen’s thumb pressed against the slit at the head, the man gasped and thrust hard against both of their palms as he shot his release, making even more a mess on the teen’s stomach and chest. Maybe he should have found it disgusting, but his spent dick gave an interested little twitch at the sight.

 

His friend slumped down next to him, breathing hard, and ignoring the sticky patches of cum, pulled him close. He’d need a thorough washing, but he was just too boneless to move.

 

“Thank you,” Hashirama said, kissing the top of his head and Madara had to laugh. How silly that was?

 

“Can you stay? For tonight?”’

 

“Of course I can.”

 

“Won’t your men miss you?”

 

“I don’t think they need me when they sleep,” Hashirama chuckled. “But anyway, I’m their leader – I can do whatever I want.”

 

He was being stupid again – Madara wasn’t even fifteen yet, but he already knew that leaders of clans were bound by thousands of expectations and harsh duty, much more so than an average shinobi was. But if Hashirama was content to pretend otherwise, he didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. It felt too good to lie in his arms to point out he was wrong.

 

He yawned. Who knew, maybe he could indeed do whatever he wanted. After all, he met Madara, saved Izuna, made peace with the Uchiha – that was surely against the expectations they burdened him with too. And now they had become lovers, hadn’t they?  He rolled the term around his mind, liking the sound of it. He’d just try to trust Hashirama to know what to do and maybe then everything would be all right.

  


**FIN**

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments/reviews are much appreciated.


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